Shades Of
by krazykitkat
Summary: She needs to be somewhere else. A place where she's the professional. (CJToby campaign) (sex scene and language)


TITLE: Shades of  
AUTHOR: Katrina McDonnell  
EMAIL: mcdonnem@tpg.com.au  
SPOILERS: None  
RATING: R (language and sex scene)  
DISCLAIMER: The West Wing and its characters are the property of   
Aaron Sorkin, Warner Brothers, and NBC. No Copyright Infringement   
is intended. I will put them back slightly disheveled.   
ARCHIVE: Sure, but please ask first.  
FEEDBACK: Much appreciated.  
ORIGINALLY POSTED: 13 November, 2003.  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This started life as a drabble and Luna said she   
wished it was a full length story. Took a long while and may not be what   
she was hoping for, but Luna, this is for you. Campaign CJ and Toby.  
THANKS: To the amazing Pene and Rhonda for supreme editing skills   
and support. And to Oro and Angie for encouragement.  
SUMMARY: She needs to be somewhere else. A place where she's the   
professional.  
  
  
  
Amateur.  
  
Unprepared.  
  
Incompetent.  
  
Green.  
  
She throws the newspapers down on the hotel bed and stalks over to   
the window. Why don't they just come right out and ask, "Why's Bartlet   
sabotaging himself with this stupid bitch?"  
  
"Fuck off, Toby."  
  
He's the only one who'll enter without knocking. But she can't deal with   
him right now.   
  
"He wants to see you."  
  
She bites her lip, trying to quell the nausea.   
  
"Why the hell did you bring me here?"  
  
To force her to watch them together? To confirm he'd made the right   
choice going with the Congresswoman?  
  
"Because you can do it."  
  
She snorts, turns and walks past him. "It's an absolute mystery why you've   
never won an election."  
  
***  
  
Leo's tongue lashing and shape up warning, followed by two hours of   
meetings and briefing drills. An apple for lunch. Another two and a   
half hours of drilling.   
  
And Congresswoman Wyatt's arrival.  
  
With her fingers and her emerald and diamond ring tangled between his   
fingers.  
  
She needs to be somewhere else. A place where she's the professional.  
  
***  
  
The first bar is too quiet. Barbra singing of easy chairs and morning air   
forces her out of the second.  
  
She drains the last drops of her grasshopper.  
  
"Another one for the lady."   
  
His knee bumps hers and she prays for a second before turning.  
  
Not bad.  
  
"Greg."  
  
"Jean."  
  
Inane chatter, crossed legs baring more thigh, large hand splayed against   
the inside of her knee.  
  
Third grasshopper.  
  
Khaki pants, sage pullover, dark eyes, dark hair.  
  
Her damp panties remind her how long it's been since a beard's rasped   
between her legs.  
  
He sucks the olive off the toothpick, and a drop of alcohol catches in his   
whiskers. She leans over and collects it with her tongue.   
  
She normally prefers scotch drinkers but he'll do.  
  
***  
  
She thanks providence or something that she had the foresight to wear   
stockings. There's no way she could wait for the inevitable pantyhose   
untangling.   
  
He stands behind her in the elevator. His hand slips between her thighs.   
And she's unbearably close to pressing the alarm button, stopping their   
ascent and begging him to go down on her.  
  
Typical business hotel room. At least she assumes so.  
  
The lights are off and she's fully dressed. Except that her panties are on   
the floor near the door and her skirt is hiked up around her waist.   
  
She whimpers at the first scrape of beard against her thigh. His hands   
mold around her ass and she leans her head and shoulder blades against   
the wall. She wonders about the wisdom of this position given three   
grasshoppers and her famous sense of balance.  
  
But lips and tongue and beard moving over her and in her dispel her   
misgivings, leaving only wet arousal. She squirms and moans and   
pushes against his mouth, wanting closer and harder and faster.  
  
Until all that exists is his name.  
  
***  
  
"My name's Greg."  
  
She laughs, waves it off, and makes him forget everything but her mouth   
around him.   
  
He complains as she pulls away, but she again shifts his attention by   
straddling him. His hands grasp her hips and she winces as long unused   
flesh is forced into action.  
  
"You're tight."  
  
No kidding.  
  
She uses the strength in her thigh muscles to slow her descent and shift   
her weight forward, her hands bracing against his shoulders.  
  
"Oh, baby."  
  
God...he's one of those. Definitely better when his mouth's occupied.  
  
Smiling at him, she wishes she'd left before they made it to the bed. A   
fistful of dollar bills would've assuaged her guilt.  
  
She starts to ride him, hoping for another orgasm. But his litany of   
pornographic prose distracts her from the physical and she realizes the   
beard is the only similarity and it's not enough.  
  
Too short and thick, too vocal, hands too rough...and thank God, a fast   
burn.  
  
***   
  
She slowly opens her eyes...hoping...  
  
Her hotel room.   
  
Releasing a breath, she shifts her legs and grimaces. Her head's perfectly   
clear and she'd only be fooling herself if she tries to blame last night on   
the grasshoppers.  
  
She needs to locate the nearest clinic and drug store. But that means   
taking time out when her job's already on the line. She could claim food   
poisoning and she'd only be partly lying. It does make her sick.   
  
A knock at the door interrupts her planning. She throws the blankets off   
and wonders whether she should get dressed first.  
  
"CJ, it's Andi."   
  
She grabs a robe from the end of the bed, pulling it on over her t-shirt as   
she walks to the door. Pausing with her hand on the doorknob, she sucks   
in a deep breath and attempts to assemble her expression into something   
approaching friendliness.  
  
Andi's contrite as she's invited in. "I know it's early, but I wanted to talk   
to you before I left."  
  
After closing the door, she touches her hand to her neck - oh hell, beard   
burn. She adjusts the collar of the robe and her hair to cover it. "You   
going back to DC?"  
  
"Committee meeting this afternoon."  
  
She can't help but focus on the flash of green as Andi's hands join in the   
conversation. Why couldn't it have been a ruby? He knew emeralds were   
hers by birth.  
  
"I know they're coming down hard on you."  
  
She could wipe away the Congresswoman's pity with a sentence or two   
about a hotel room not unlike this one.   
  
"But he wouldn't have brought you in if he didn't know you could do the   
job."  
  
And she swallows the bitter words as she remembers his face and his voice   
as he apologized to his absent fiancee. The year of silence without even a   
wedding invitation.  
  
"They'll realize eventually you've got the toughest job."  
  
She shakes her head. "I'm not going to be here."  
  
"You will be. They need you." Andi smiles. "They just don't know how   
much yet. My cab should be here," she finishes, glancing at her watch.  
  
Tightening the sash around her robe to give her hands something to do,   
she follows Andi to the door and opens it. "Thanks." It's the only thing   
she can think to say...and she's the one supposed to be dealing with the   
press.  
  
"Give it some time." Andi touches her wrist. "Don't doubt you can do   
it. Toby doesn't and I trust him."  
  
She bites her lip before covering with a wavering smile, never quite   
meeting her direct gaze. There's too much of him here, between them,   
and she wants to keep some pieces for herself.  
  
***  
  
"Does Leo need a sick note?" She moves aside to let him in, knowing   
he won't just leave her alone.   
  
"How much did you have to drink last night?"  
  
"Not enough," she snarls through gritted teeth. Her head rests against   
the closed door and she wills her stomach to behave.  
  
"You need to--this isn't--" The nervous cough.   
  
"Just shut the fu--" She twists her neck to glare at him.   
  
His shirt is sage. It doesn't suit him.  
  
She clamps her hand over her mouth as her stomach demands out, shoving   
past him and falling to her knees in front of the toilet.  
  
His fingers brush her neck and she tries to push them away.  
  
"Let me."  
  
The heaving diverts her attention and, though she won't tell him, she's   
grateful he's holding her hair.  
  
"Water?"  
  
She nods and leans against the bath, resting her head on her bent knees   
as she listens to the water running into a glass...the same glass she used   
to take the pill...the box of which is sitting on the sink...  
  
Fuck.   
  
No. That's what got her into this mess.  
  
She takes the glass without looking at him and rinses; feels his eyes on   
her neck but she can't care, or move, enough to hide it. Refusing his hand   
and using the bath as support, she slowly stands and walks out.  
  
Her stomach and head quiet down once she's on her back, staring at the   
ceiling. She's tired of hotel beds and rooms with peeling paint and looking   
but not touching.   
  
"Leo will get over it."  
  
She screws her eyes shut and wishes him and his inept pep talks away.   
  
"I've lost count of the number of times he's--"   
  
"Why did you give her emeralds?"  
  
Silence. So long she opens her eyes to check whether he has disappeared.   
Would be a useful super power for dealing with the press.  
  
His eyes will her to spontaneously combust. "You didn't want them."  
  
She flinches. "Have you ever told her?"   
  
"We were drunk. It was an accident."  
  
"We knew exactly what we were doing, Toby," she snorts, rising slowly   
to a sitting position. "You were hard before you finished your first drink.   
And the way you went down on me in the hotel elevator required some   
sort of--"  
  
"What the hell do you want, CJ?" His lips are drawn in a tight line and   
the glare would be enough to silence Mary Marsh.  
  
But she's ripped off the scab and can't stop. "I wasn't talking about that   
night. I meant us. Have you ever told her about us?"  
  
His gaze drops to his shoes as he shuffles his feet and coughs.  
  
And the tiny ball of hope that she has nursed deep inside cracks. Her   
shoulders slump and she swallows a sob, before managing to whisper,   
"What happened to us?"  
  
He rubs his hand over his beard and glances up. "You ran as far as you   
could without falling into the Pacific."  
  
"Why didn't you follow me?" She chews her lip, unsure she really wants   
the answer.  
  
"How many times did you expect me to chase you?" He slides his hands   
into his pants pockets and rocks on the balls of his feet. "I was tired, CJ.   
You'd be back and then as soon as things started getting serious again,   
you'd leave. I loved you, but I couldn't live like that any longer."  
  
"She--Andi gives you--" Her lip trembles and she can't get the words   
out.  
  
"I love her."  
  
She closes her eyes and bites her lip hard.  
  
"If you're going to run, do it now. Before they come to depend on you.   
Before--" A cough. "Before they love you."  
  
"Toby." She opens her eyes.  
  
His hand stops on the door handle, but he doesn't look at her.  
  
"I--I'm sorry."  
  
He turns his head and she forces herself to meet and hold his gaze.   
  
"So am I," he whispers and walks out.  
  
And she cries.  
  
***  
  
On the table in their meeting room is a bowl of assorted fruit with a big   
yellow ribbon. Sam, Josh and Toby are clustered around it. No sage   
clothing in sight.  
  
"You still sick?" Josh wears an apprehensive expression as she pulls   
out the chair next to him.  
  
"Don't worry, Josh. You're not going to catch anything." She senses   
Toby glancing up from his paper on the other side of the table, but she   
doesn't look at him.  
  
Josh still shuffles his chair sideways and whines, "Mrs Landingham heard   
you were sick and replaced our donuts and bagels with that." He points   
at the bowl.  
  
She rolls her eyes and grabs an apple. Turning to her left, she asks Sam   
to bring her up to date on the previous day's happenings. She takes notes   
while biting into the green skin.  
  
"Nice of you to join us, CJ."  
  
"Are you feeling better?"  
  
She ignores Leo's greeting and smiles at the Governor. "Yes, thank you,   
Sir."  
  
Over the next forty minutes she speaks sporadically, only answering direct   
questions. Discussion finally turns to raising the profile of Jed Bartlet and   
it's her opportunity to prove she can do this.  
  
Except Leo throws the question at everyone but her.  
  
She bites her lip as her stomach rolls, and she wishes she wasn't six feet   
tall and could slide under the table.  
  
Her eyes are fixed on her notes when Toby grizzles, "Why are you asking   
me? This is CJ's area."  
  
Silence and their eyes burn her skin. Deep breath and look up.  
  
"Do you have some ideas you'd like to share, CJ?"  
  
She turns her attention directly to their candidate. "Yes, Sir. I made some   
enquiries yesterday and called in some favours. I can get you an hour on   
Larry King."  
  
"Larry King?" Sam and Josh chorus.   
  
"It will have to be before the end of the month, before they go into sweeps.   
They need at least a week's notice." She glances around the table. "We'll   
have to start prepping now, but it's a good opportunity and the quickest   
way to raise the campaign profile."  
  
She looks back to Leo and Bartlet, waiting for some indication whether   
her trial's over. Bartlet's smiling, but she still can't read Leo.  
  
"You can make all the arrangements?"  
  
She nods.  
  
"Good work, CJ."  
  
And she knows Leo's grin is his highest accolade.  
  
Her colleagues seize the interview as a concrete goal, and ideas and issues   
start flowing.   
  
She knows he's watching her, and meets his eyes. And in their darkness,   
she never ran and there's only them. Until he rubs his ring.   
  
He nods and his lips quirk slightly. The Toby version of 'I told you so'.  
  
She thanks him for his faith with a smile.  
  
"Hey, CJ." Josh bumps her shoulder with his.  
  
She breaks contact with Toby and bumps Josh back. "You're not still   
worried about germs?"  
  
"I could do with a day off." In a conspiratorial whisper, he asks, "So,   
who do you know in Hollywood?"  
  
She laughs and grabs a handful of cherries from the bowl.  
  



End file.
